


What's Left of Him After

by Tobiaspaceship



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, are drabbles even cool anymore or am I just unable to write more than 500 words we may never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 05:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20371591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobiaspaceship/pseuds/Tobiaspaceship
Summary: When you're one of the last of an entire planet things are bound to be stressful. Thankfully Seiya's not alone.





	What's Left of Him After

He wakes with a start. Convulsing. Gasping. Clawing for something solid as the world crumbles apart around him. Blood and wind roar in his ears, drowning his own screams. Light too bright flashes then vanishes completely, cries too loud for one voice fill his head. He has to move, has to run, has to fight whatever’s holding him. His arms and legs are trapped no matter how he struggles and all around him is dark dark dark he has to go has to move has to -  
Fall. 

He’s falling. Just for a moment.

And then his shoulder aches and something like stars explode in his knee as something heavy lands with him. On him. Something holding him, trapping him. Instinct kicks in. He fights. Flailing best he can but his arms won’t move. He screams but his voice dies on his breath. He clutches something ready to tear ready to hit as hard as he can ready to break away ready - 

“Seiya!”

He gasps reality back to order.

Light filters back, blink by blink. The ground’s solid with carpet, the wind stills to the gentle hum of the electric fan. His fingers hold white-knuckle tight the familiar warmth of a scarred arm.

And their faces come back to focus. Green and gold, solar fierce, worry tight, pin him to the floor with careful precision. Ocean waves and tidal blue search for his familiarity with a cavernful of siren empathy. 

Both haloed in the army of his fading ghosts. 

He’s shaking. Shivering under their hands as the two of them coax him back. A gentle squeeze unlocks his fingers from Michiru’s wrists. His nose twitches with sniffles, air leaving him in soft stutters. Haruka smoothes out the already healing bruises on his skin. The world calmly slots back into place with every touch. Muscles lose tension. Breathing calms. He stays on the floor as they arrange themselves around him. Heavy and solid. Grounding him in their gravity of the present.

He’s here. He’s alive. 

The ghosts fade back into the apartment walls.


End file.
